CAPTAIN U S AIR FORCE
FLIGHT SURGEON
557th TACTICAL FIGHTER SQUADRON
12TH TACTICAL FIGHTER WING
KILLED IN ACTION, 3 SEP 1966
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In Memory |
FLIGHT SURGEON
557th TACTICAL FIGHTER SQUADRON
12TH TACTICAL FIGHTER WING
KILLED IN ACTION, 3 SEP 1966
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Now is the Hour
Remembering a favorite he played on ukulele.
 Courtesy Joe "Doc" Kralich Thanks "Doc" |
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Distinguished Flying Cross
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WITH 557TH PILOT AND FRIEND JIM THORNTON Dear Si, I served at Cam Ranh Bay in the 557th from November 1965 to October 1966 and knew Bill well. A number of years ago I tried to find his family members through the River Rat Association, but did not have any luck. I was living in Jackson, MS at the time and even went to the Medical School in hope they could give me his hometown address. While I can't remember the town now, I did call to see if his family still lived there, to no avail. I had run across several pictures of Doc and thought his family would enjoy having them. I also have a few stories to share that I think they would like hearing. I hope you have been contacted by the pilots of the 557th before now, as all of us loved Doc and were crushed when he was lost. He was the only Doctor at CRB to live in the pilot's quarters! I happened across the 12TFW web site today and was excited to see your letter and address. Looking forward to your reply.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Simmons Family,
Wow! I was hoping for a response, but had no idea it
would be this big. Marilyn, I may have met you at
MacDill just before the squadron departed for Cam Ranh Bay,
but I was only in the squadron for two weeks before we
left. I started out flying for the Peoria, Illinois Air
National Guard (same unit as George Devorshak) and then
went to fly F-84's at MacDill in the summer of 1962. I
was assigned to the 15th Wing. After volunteering to go
to Vietnam in the fall of 1965, I suddenly found myself
transferred to the 557th in the 12th just two weeks before
departure. I attended one "going away" party, so that is
where I may have met you.
Si, you were so right when you said that Bill died
doing what he loved and doing it with those he loved.
He was the only Doctor on the whole base to live with
his pilots and we could not have been better cared for.
After drinking warm water that smelled like the Army
canvas bag it was stored in I caught Bill swishing his
mouth out with tap water after brushing his teeth.
When I challenged him on the indiscretion he just
grinned and told me to keep on doing what he said and
not what he did.
We lived in a large Quonset hut that was 20' wide
and the rooms were located along the sides of the
building with a hallway down the center. Each room was
about 16' long, 8' wide and housed four guys with the
bunk beds on either end. Luck of the draw put Doc in
the only room in the whole barracks with a former
Bulldog, Claude Kincade, a big raw boned Mississippi
farm boy. Claude could have played as a lineman for
the Bulldogs, he was so big. Claude seldom drank and
I only saw him overindulge once in the whole year. On
that particular occasion he got a case of the whirlies
after he got in bed and started to throw up in a 20mm
ammo can he used for trash. The others in the room
couldn't sleep with that going on, so Doc got his bag,
loaded a syringe with a stomach remedy and then asked
Claude to hold still so he could give him the shot.
Claude drew himself up and announced that he would
rather die than let an Ole Miss graduate touch him!
We all laughed the next day, but I didn't appreciate
it fully until I lived in Jackson. My wife, Peggy,
got her law degree from Ole Miss, but we never got
into the rivalry quite that much.
The whole wing was crushed when Cliff and Doc
didn't return to base after their mission. We all
said that they were waiting to signal us in the
morning and all would be fine. I was on a mission
leading two others the next day and upon returning
to CRB the tower called and said a C-130 had picked
up a beacon South of the base. I sent my wingmen
in to land (low fuel) and then headed toward the
area. My heart soared when we started to pick up
an intermittent signal on Guard. I kept
following the ADF and finally located the signal
on top of a small mountain. I went in for a close
look, didn't see anyone, then climbed and told CRB
tower I had located the signal.
An Army chopper was sitting on the ramp, small
one with the bubble nose, and the pilot went out
to launch. Dean Cooke, one of our pilots, told
the Army pilot that he would need him to recognize
Cliff and Doc. The chopper pilot handed Dean two
vests, one to sit on and the other to wear. They
took off and headed to the hill and I had to leave
just as they were getting there because I had
fumes for gas. No other fighters had time to get
down there, so they went in without support. As
soon as they got over the beacon the VC opened
fire and Cookie got a round through the floor,
through the vest he was sitting on, and then
through the bottom of his thigh.
A bunch of us met the chopper when it returned
in hopes they had spotted Cliff and Doc only to
find Cookie in unbearable pain. The medics
finally managed to get him out of the chopper
(he didn't want to bend the leg or let anyone
touch him for that matter). It was certainly a
different scene than I had seen John Wayne play
many times before. Cookie talked his way out of
the hospital in a week or so and almost bled to
death on the medivac bird on the way home.
In short, we all loved Doc and would have
done anything to get him back. I was the pilot
member of the Board that tried to figure out
what happened.I can tell you that nobody will
ever be able to say for sure what happened
or to rule out any possibility. The only time
I ever got hit while flying combat at CRB was
while sightseeing over a waterfall after a
test hop.
Any time the VC heard an aircraft they
pointed their weapons skyward and started
shooting. I have seen thousands of guns
flashes sparkling along atree line while on a
low level delivery. And the weather could be
god awful and so dense you would have to fly
just three or four feet from your leader's
wing tip to see his wing light; all while
bouncing in a thunderstorm. Dean Cooke had
to bail out right over CRB once because the
GCA didn't work when it rained real hard!!!
I will start an immediate search for the
photos - we've moved since I last saw them,
but don't despair. I am glad to finally
"meet" y'all. Bill is both the fondest and
saddest memory of that time in my life.
I know I speak for all his charges in the
557th. I am sorry for your loss, but even
more so for his Grandchildren. Wouldn't
Bill have made a wonderful Grandfather?
If you are ever wandering around Durango,
CO I would be crushed if you did not stop
by, so we could show off our beautiful
mountains and our old train. My ski pass
has been renewed and I would love to take
you skiing also. Our address is
33637 Hwy 550 North
Durango, CO 81301
970-259-5988
With warm regards,
Jim
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Originally published in the
Meridian Star, Meridian, MS, in early October, 1966
CAPTAIN SIMMONS
‘Once I Get Home’
‘By EDNA
WILKINSON What force could compel a 33 year
old devoted husband, father, son and brother, with a medical degree safely
tucked away, and who for two years had been on the way to really living a
dedicated life of service to his community, decided “this’s just not for
me?” We’ll never know and can only surmise that “A man must do what he
must do.”
I refer to Dr. William P.
Simmons, flight surgeon and chief of the Flight Medicine Section, 12th USA
Hospital, Cam Ranh Bay, South Viet Nam, who died in the crash of his plane
in the jungles of Viet Nam on September 3.
Perhaps some passages from a letter dated June 6, of this year from Captain Simmons to his younger brother, Capt. Armond Simmons, who was then a helicopter pilot with the 42nd Field Hospital will give us a clearer insight as to the flight surgeon’s feelings. The letter reads in part: “Dear Armond, I got your letter yesterday, and yes, I did get the first one too. I’ve been lazy about writing. I just finished my first six months over here and I guess you might say I’m over the hump, but I still have a helluva time to go. The town hasn’t been bad at all, except for the separation from my family, which is really bad. I try to keep busy and keep my mind off going home - of course that’s hard to do.” The letter goes on to describe
the situation there at the time and then the Captain wrote:
“Sounds like the Army is about to
put the screws on you. I don’t regret the year here, but I never want to
see VN again, and I’m sure you feel the same way. I’m all for the Air
America Plan. That isn’t bad living, especially when you can bring your
family to Bangkok. I don’t think Marilyn could survive another separation.
She took it real well for about five months, but now she’s beginning to
weaken and I can understand.
Congratulations on the VN Cross
of Gallantry. I’ll do my best to pick you up several of them and the
stars.”
“Most of the flying is in the F4. I had to stand down from flying strike missions for two months because 2nd Air Div. surgeon sent out a letter telling us not to fly. After two months of frustration I finally talked our wing commander into letting the flight surgeons fly anyway. So, we’re back in the saddle again. Marilyn doesn’t know I’m flying again, so don’t mention it in the letters to home. No point in her worrying about it. I guess I’m just a fighter jock at heart. I’ve gotten spoiled on flying and get miserable when I can’t fly. I only fly one or two missions a week. I have only 38 strike missions right now, but over 100 (total) combat missions. “Most of our missions are against
supply areas, trucks and roads. We occasionally get a good close air
support mission, which is most interesting. I am not flying north of the
17th Parallel, so don’t get a crack at a Mig.
“I have precarted for Germany and
will probably get it. If I don’t I’ll probably go ahead and start a
residency in one of the clinical specialties. Marilyn is hinting for me to
get out, mainly because of the possibility of future separation, but I
could never go back into general practice again. I think she’ll see it my
way once I get home.
“Both my boys will be playing
baseball this summer, Bill in Little League, if he makes the team and Bob
in Shirt League. I sure wish I could be there. They are little dolls. I
miss my little gals too… Poor wives have to suffer sometimes. You really
learn to appreciate them when you are away. If we go to Germany I may not
see you for some time, unless you can swing a town in that direction. I
wish you could. These passages tell something of
the wishes and desires of Dr. Simmons. There are two other letters written
to Mrs. Simmons from the captain’s friends after he was reported “missing
in action.” The first is from MAV Bob Foster, Cam Ranh, Sept 12. They are
exact quotes:
“Dear Marilyn, I would have written sooner, but I’ve waited, and hoped, and prayed. At first I was optimistic, but now things just don’t look very good at all. We have searched, and given ‘Doc’ every opportunity to make contact with us and there has been nothing. We know the wreckage is within 15 miles of the base, however, the area is covered with jungle that is 150 feet thick. It will take time to locate it. “I know how tragic the loss is.
‘Doc’ and I became so close here that I also feel as if I’ve lost a part
of myself. Every man in the squadron feels the same, and I want to express
the deepest sympathy from each of us.
“Doc thoroughly enjoyed his work
here and distinguished himself almost to the point of becoming a legend in
his time. Knowing and associating with him was one of the most pleasant
experiences of my life. He was a devoted husband and father, and was
anxiously awaiting the time when he would get all of you together again
and to Europe.
“You will certainly be kept abreast of any new developments and until
then, may God bless you and yours. Sincerely, Foster."
The second letter was written on September 17, to Mrs. Simmons by Capt. Marvin M. Gradert, an F-4C aircraft commander with the 557th Tactical Fighter Squadron. It reads: “Dear Marilyn, I received your
letter two days ago and since I have searched extensively, I am convinced
that Bill had the two letters in question on his person. We found the tape
you sent, but not the letters. Dave Cochard said that he had lunch with
Bill that day. Dave said he remembered he and Bill stopping by the post
office and as nearly as he can remember, Bill did have some mail. I would
rest assured that Bill did get your letters, Marilyn.
“Yes, Marilyn, I’m convinced I
saw their airplane after we came out of the first cloud. What happened
after that I’m unable to say.
“Marilyn, Bill was, and is, I
pray, still the finest flight surgeon I’ve ever met, but better still, a
person of great loyalty, honesty and guts. He was accepted not only as a
flight surgeon, but also as a damned nervy guy who had to be where action
was. You asked me how long he had been flying combat missions. He had been
flying again with us about six weeks, as I recall.
“Bill touched all of our lives and made them a little better. I’m
convinced that he is the main reason I’m back on flying status. He always
was ready with a smile and joke - this is a sorely needed commodity over
here.
Dr. Simmons was called to active duty with the National Guard during the Korean conflict for one year. After service his finished his education and received his MD degree from the University of Mississippi School of Medicine and interned at Womack Army Hospital, Fort Bragg, N. C. He then moved to Arcola with his family in 1962 and was engaged in general practice for two years. He entered the U. S. Air Force in 1964 and attended the School of Aerospace Medicine at Brooks AFB, Tex. Upon graduation he became a flight surgeon and was assigned to the 557th Tactical Fighter Squadron at MacDill AFB, Florida. He received his tropical survival training in the Panama Canal Zone and trained further in Norway. When the 557th was sent to Cam
Ranh Bay, South Viet Nam in October, 1965, Capt. Simmons was left behind.
He volunteered for an assignment with the wing, and through the determined
efforts of wing officials, followed his pilot friends to Cam Ranh Bay.
Before his death on September 3rd
Dr. Simmons had been diagnosing ills for the pilots of the 12th for more
than a year. It was his conviction that his flying gave him a better
understanding of the pilot and his problems. He said, “By taking part in
the pilot’s daily life, you attain a mutual trust between doctor and
patient, akin to the old family doctor. We are almost like personal
physicians to the men. I live in the same barracks with the pilots and
this gives me a closeness which enables me to spot problems and tensions
long before the man ever steps into my office.”
Dr. Simmons was asked what was
the biggest problems faced by the pilots.
Now, one month and a day since Captain Simmons was reported missing in action, his body, accompanied by the Color Guard, will have been gently borne by members of the Air Force to its final resting place, the 21-gun salute will have echoed into the stillness, and the bugler will have blown taps for Dr. William Prestwood Simmons, flight surgeon, and captain of the U. S. Air Force - Mission accomplished. We bow our heads and lift our
hearts and thank our heavenly Father for having let this man walk among us
for 33 years.
“He did what he must do.”
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